That's All
by Grac3
Summary: Genesis songfic. A collection of angsty JohnLock 221b drabbles based around the song That's All.
1. Wrong and Right

**Warning:** This story is essentially about a relationship being brought to breaking point. If this causes triggers in any of you, I would advise that you don't read it.

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock.**

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Chapter 1 – Wrong When I Thought I Was Right

"John, what do you think?"

John bent down over the body, studying the bruise pattern around the victim's neck. "Strangulation," he concluded, standing up. Sherlock was wearing The Face again.

"That's what they _want_ you to think." He swept down on the body and whipped out his magnifying glass. "The strangulation is post-mortem; the bruises hide a small puncture mark there," he pointed at a tiny dot which was barely visible. "The bruises are also designed to throw us off the scent, making us look for stranglers when we should be researching poisons; most likely specialist ones, possibly easily traceable to few, or even a single location, hence the need to cover up the real cause of death." He straightened up, looking superior. Yet the look melted off his face when John shot him a thunderous look. "What?" he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Why did you do that?" John murmured; although most people had moved away from them, he didn't want to risk being overheard.

"Do what?"

"Humiliate me," John explained.

Sherlock still looked confused. "I needed to show how the bruises-"

"No!" John exclaimed. "You don't do that to your… boyfriend," he whispered, very aware of the fact that they hadn't told anyone of the shift their relationship paradigm yet.

Sherlock winced. "Bit not good?"

John snorted. "A bit."


	2. Day and Night

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock.**

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Chapter 2 – I Could Say Day, and You'd Say Night

"Sleep is immaterial. I have much more important things to do, sleep would just get in the way."

"No!"

Sherlock turned to John slowly. "I'm sorry?"

John sighed. "You need to rest! Last week I found you passed out in the middle of the living room because you were too fixated on a case."

There was a pause, as the detective surveyed the doctor's irritated expression.

"You… _care_… about me," he mused, with an infuriating hint of amusement in his voice. "At first I thought it was merely your medical background dictating your emotions, now I see it's something… else."

"No… shit," John said slowly, trying to keep his anger in check. "You are deliberately contradicting me, all for some stupid case-"

"It's not stupid!"

"I'm scared! Sherlock… I'm… scared. I'm scared that you're going to end up killing yourself because you don't know how to look after yourself. Or because you've gone off without me and done something stupid. It's not just the sleep, it's… everything! I don't want to lose you." He took a deep, controlled breath, and met the ice blue eyes.

Sherlock said nothing, frozen in place. The silence was even more vexing than his arrogance.

"You know what? Do what you want." John snapped, turning away. "After all, what do I know? I'm just your boyfriend."


	3. Black and White

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock.**

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Chapter 3 - Tell Me It's Black When I Know That It's White

"You see that mark on her finger? That's obviously because of an injection, which contained the poison that killed her!"

Sherlock turned from the body to John, arms spread and a triumphant look on his face that melted when he saw the concerned look on John's face.

"What?" he asked, his arms slowly lowering.

"Sherlock," John sighed, shifting uncomfortably. "I know this has been a long case, but don't you think that's a little farfetched? Her _finger_? People don't… do that."

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed dangerously. "This is the evidence we needed! We can prove that her brother-"

"Sherlock," John interrupted softly, silencing the detective once more. "You've been pushing yourself too far, trying to make this… _interesting_. What about Occam's Razor?"

"Occam's Razor?" Sherlock spit in disbelief.

"That in any problem, the simplest solution-"

"Yes, I know what it is, John!" Sherlock snapped. "The simplest solution would be the father, but it's obviously not him, because-" He was cut off once more by John's pleading expression.

"Stop," John begged. "Just trust me."

"Fine," Sherlock grumbled, texting Lestrade to arrest the father.

The man confessed at once.

"Shut up, John," Sherlock glared.

Sherlock hated getting things wrong, and he knew he'd upset John; trust was something he seemed to want from Sherlock. But he _hated_ being bored.


	4. Looking At You, Me

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock.**

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Chapter 4 – Me Looking At You, You Looking At Me

He had ordered enough Chinese for both of them. He had _made sure_ that he ordered enough Chinese for both of them. Yet still, Sherlock didn't eat.

John had considered forcing the food down his throat, but he knew that it wouldn't work. They had already argued about it once, and that was enough for the good doctor.

Their latest case had finished a couple of hours before; a particularly tricky one where the victim's co-worker had managed to hide the murder weapon – a biro used to stab the office worker in the carotid – in a ventilation shaft. It had not been easy to find, and the location of the fatal object evaded the great Sherlock Holmes for longer than he would ever admit.

Usually after such an exhilarating case, Sherlock would have the appetite of a lion. But this time was different. Sherlock had not yet had the chance to tell Lestrade that he had solved the case, and had insisted that it was not over until he had done so.

So John ate alone in silence – for Sherlock was staring over at him from the sofa – in the artificial light of the kitchen, feeling completely abandoned. He considered an attempt at speaking to the man in the living room, when Sherlock's phone rang.

"Lestrade?" he quipped. "It was Blaine."


	5. Living With You

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock.**

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Chapter 5 – Living With You's Just Putting Me Through It All of the Time

It started off as a faint burning smell. John didn't know immediately where it was coming from, but based on previous experience, he guessed the kitchen. Placing his laptop on the coffee table, he went to investigate. Indeed, the smell _was_ coming from the kitchen.

The kitchen was on fire.

After a few tense minutes in which John had arrived on Mrs Hudson's doorstep and demanded to borrow her fire extinguisher in a voice too high to be his own, he was standing in a smoke-filled, charred kitchen. Sherlock had gone out, and no doubt had left some experiment which would cause this havoc.

When Sherlock arrived home, it was to the faint smell of smoke. He stepped into the flat, and was met with an extremely angry John wielding a fire extinguisher and a burned kitchen.

"What happened in here?" he asked, wondering how this fire could happen and why it made John look so furious with him.

"You left an experiment, and it set fire to the kitchen!" John bellowed.

"No, I didn't," Sherlock explained. "I haven't been running any experiments."

"Oh." John blinked.

"I am not the only cause of mishaps around here," Sherlock scowled, turning on his heel and storming off to his bedroom. He ignored John's apologies, opting instead for slamming the door with a _bang_.


	6. Running Around

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock.**

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Chapter 6 – Running Around, Staying Out All Night

It was only when the sun rose on the frost winter morning that John realised that he should be worried. At this time of year sunrise was ridiculously late, meaning that it was nearing eight in the morning by the time the yellow tinged the sky at the horizon. Sherlock had gone out when the same sun had set the previous night, and he was yet to return.

John tried to stay calm. He had no doubt that the detective was used to staying out all night, and he never slept when they had a case anyway. Yet still…

Sherlock told John that it was only the doctor in him that worried, but the doctor in him was very real, making the worry very real as well.

John had never really worried before he had moved into Baker Street. He had been scared, anxious, apprehensive, and a myriad of other emotions that, to others, might have been misdiagnosed as worry, in Afghanistan. But he had never been worried; not like this.

That was why, when Sherlock _did_ finally decide to come home, covered in bruises from 'falling off a wall', John found it very difficult not to shout at him for making him feel this way and then – to stop the doofus from doing it again – handcuff him to his bedpost.


	7. Taking it All

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock.**

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Chapter 7 – Taking It All Instead of Taking One Bite

Over the time that they had been together, John had tried really hard not to let the amount with which they fought get to them. After all, it was normal for couples to argue so much when they first got together, and especially when they first lived together as a couple. It was for that reason that John had vowed that there would never be a Final Straw. He would never allow things to build up so that one insignificant event would push him over the edge. And he had tried to keep his word.

Oh, how he had tried…

It wasn't that he hadn't told him that he had finished off all of the milk. It wasn't that he had put the empty bottle back in the fridge. It was that he had used it _all_, when he had said explicitly that he would only need a few fluid ounces for his experiment.

The argument had that followed was a monster, breaking off into tiny other arguments that they hadn't had the chance to resolve, morphing into one massive argument.

It was the Final Straw.

John wasn't sure how it had ended with him declaring that he was moving out, but somehow, it had. And this time, he would keep to his word: he would leave, and never look back.


	8. It'd Be Easier

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock.**

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Chapter 8 – It'd Be Easier I Know

The suitcase was packed, sitting on the floor of his bedroom. Sherlock had gone out a few hours before, something about an experiment, or a case. John hadn't really been listening. The doctor had promised that he would be gone by the time the detective came back home. All he had to do was leave his key and walk out the door.

John stared down at his suitcase, not quite believing that everything he had could fit into it. Had he not had more possessions than this? But as he took a tour of the flat with his mind's eye, he realised that everything else was communal: by some unwritten law, it was both his _and_ Sherlock's. The amount of stuff that solely belonged to him was very minimal indeed.

Maybe this had never been _their_ flat, but _Sherlock's_ flat, and John was only there to help with the rent. John tried to catalogue the amount of stuff in the flat that was just Sherlock's.

The skill.

His laptop.

The violin.

At that point, John found himself stuck. Their lived had intertwined to such an extent that in the event of one of them leaving, they would only have a few things to themselves.

Could he really leave all that behind just because of some stupid argument about a dairy beverage?


	9. I Wanted To

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock.**

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Chapter 9 – More Than I Wanted To

He'd messed up this time. He _knew_ he'd messed up this time.

Sherlock didn't know what had possessed him to enter into a relationship. He had known for a long time that he was never going to be good at being in a relationship. He had accepted this truth.

Until John.

John flicked a switch inside his head, made him less rational. At first that had terrified him, but the change was exhilarating, it was interesting, it was… _not boring_.

He'd thrown caution to the wind and been incredibly selfish. Now he'd messed it up, and John was moving out.

He hid for most of the day in the mortuary at St Bart's, ignoring Molly's attempts to gauge what he was so upset about, but being more polite than he normally would. Perhaps if he learned some manners he might be able to convince John to come back.

He avoided going back to 221b as long as he could, unable to bear the thought of seeing the doctor's room empty. Eventually, he had to go back.

He'd taken one step inside the flat when a pair of arms encircled his waist.

"You're still here."

The head against his chest nodded.

"Why?"

John pulled back and looked up into his face, his eyes filled with emotion. "Because I love you, you berk!"


	10. Till the End

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock.**

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Chapter 10 – Say We'll Be Together Till the End

This was surely the most comfortable either of them had been in each other's company for a while. It was almost silent in the bedroom, the peace only broken by the tick of the clock and the occasional car as it passed by outside. They lay on their sides, staring at each other. They had yet to sleep in the same bed, but this was comfortable, it was peaceful, it _felt right_.

Neither of them spoke, until they both did.

"I'm sorry."

John's brow furrowed. "What are _you_ sorry for?"

"I messed up," Sherlock explained, shifting uncomfortably at admitting the weakness.

John shook his head. "It wasn't your fault," he insisted. "It was mine. I overreacted. I'm sorry."

"I won't accept your apology until you accept mine."

"Well, that's incredibly childish."

Sherlock chuckled at that, a deep sound starting in his chest, and sounded _real_. The laughter was contagious, and neither could remember having laughed this hard before.

Suddenly, all of their petty fights were put in perspective, and they realised just how incredibly stupid they had both been. Sure, they fought, but so did most couples; _not_ fighting was the sign that something was wrong. And after all that, were they really going to throw away what they had, something so beautiful than either of them had ever had before?


End file.
